


bad luck, good friends

by Rianne



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Diabetes, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 07:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5083279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rianne/pseuds/Rianne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac has the worst luck in the world today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bad luck, good friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sirtemple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirtemple/gifts).



Everything is going wrong today.

Courfeyrac wonders if he’s somehow switched places with Bossuet when he steps into a puddle and it turns out to be a deep hole, soaking his shoe and sock and foot up to the ankle. He’s already missed his bus this morning and dropped coffee onto someone else. Sure, he also attended a fun class and had lunch with Jehan, but for some reason, it’s only the bad things that stick in his mind today.

Grumbling at the rain, he takes out his keys and lets himself into the apartment he shares with Combeferre. He tugs at the buttons of his coat. When they don’t immediately do what he wants, he pulls harder. Too hard – a button flies off and lands at the other side of the hallway.

“ _Fucking_ hell,” he snarls. “Fucking coat. Fucking _puddle_. Fuck today.” It occurs to him then that he should check his blood sugar – lows sometimes make him clumsy as well as grumpy. But when he’s finally hung up his coat ( _sans_ button) and pulls out his insulin pump, the number on the screen is perfectly normal. All it does is make him unreasonably upset that he has to even bother with checking his blood sugar all the time. “Fucking diabetes,” he adds for good measure, kicking his soaked shoe into a corner.

He grabs a pair of dry socks and throws himself onto the couch to sulk. After a minute or so, he pulls out his phone. Combeferre is at the hospital, and Courfeyrac’s foul mood is hardly an emergency worth disturbing his boyfriend for. After a moment’s deliberation, he texts Bossuet instead.

**Courfeyrac:** How do you survive having such terrible luck all the time?

**Bossuet:** Commiserating a lot. What’s up?

**Courfeyrac:** Not much just missed my bus and stepped into a puddle and pulled a button off my coat

**Courfeyrac:** also I dropped my coffee earlier

**Courfeyrac:** onto a very lovely girl who was not pleased with me

**Bossuet:** ouch

**Courfeyrac:** yeah

**Bossuet:** Is Combeferre home to cheer you up?

**Courfeyrac:** he has a shift until nine

**Courfeyrac:** it’s fine I’ll just watch a movie or sth

**Bossuet** : Yeah that always helps

**Bossuet:** Hey I gotta go but I’ll talk to you later ok?

Courfeyrac tosses his phone onto the coffee table, trying not to be annoyed that Bossuet couldn’t talk to him for longer. It’s not like he has a claim on any of his friends; it’s just that some more company would be nice right now.

He grabs the remote and turns on the TV, listlessly going through the channels until he lands on some re-runs of a _Masterchef_ season he’s already seen. There’s a box of granola bars on the coffee table, and he reluctantly grabs one and takes a few bites.

His mind is still filled mostly with frustrated growling when the _Masterchef_ episode ends and a new one begins. He contemplates turning off the TV and just going to sleep instead, but it’s not even dinnertime and just giving up on the day seems like admitting defeat.

The doorbell rings, and he jumps in surprise. He’s not expecting anyone – Combeferre shouldn’t be back for ages, and besides, Courfeyrac can count the number of times that Combeferre has forgotten his key on one finger. (It had been raining buckets, and he’s never seen anyone so soaked to the bone than poor Combeferre, sitting on the pavement waiting for him to come home. Combeferre insisted he’d only waited for a few minutes, not long enough to justify seeking shelter at the house of any of their friends. Courfeyrac just shook his head and herded him into the shower, and the next day Combeferre had had the most miserable cold imaginable.)

Courfeyrac has half-decided to just ignore the doorbell – it’s probably some door-to-door salesperson anyway – when it rings again, more insistently this time. “Fine,” he grumbles, stomping to the intercom.

“Who is it?” he snaps at whatever poor soul decided to try to sell him something.

“It’s us!” comes a chorus of voices. He definitely recognises Bossuet and Musichetta, which means Joly is probably there too, and… was that Grantaire as well?

One corner of his mouth quirks up, and he buzzes them in without another word. A minute later, they’re at the door of his apartment. When he opens it, they come tumbling in: Bossuet, Joly and Musichetta in the lead, with Grantaire and Bahorel and Éponine behind them. They’re all full of laughter and have rain dripping from hair and coats onto his hallway floor. Courfeyrac is going to be cleaning that up later, he realises, and the thought puts a damper on his happiness at seeing his friends. A second later, he’s mentally berating himself, because his friends are here to cheer him up, so why can he only focus on the negatives?

They shrug out of their coats, and he notices only now that Éponine and Bahorel are carrying bags of Indian takeout from Courfeyrac’s favourite restaurant, the one Indian place that Combeferre will heartily endorse.

“We heard you were sad,” Bahorel announces, transferring his bags to one hand so he can slap Courfeyrac’s shoulder with the other.

“We came immediately,” Joly adds, fussing at Musichetta and Bossuet until they’ve taken off all their wet outerwear.

They spread out into his living room and kitchen. Grantaire pulls Courfeyrac back towards the couch and pushes him onto it. “Sit,” he says, something gleaming in his eyes. “I brought movies.” He pulls a stack of DVDs from seemingly nowhere and shoves them into Courfeyrac’s hands, plunking himself down on the couch next to him. “You get to pick.”

“I…” It’s a rare moment when Courfeyrac is speechless, but for once he really doesn’t know what to say. He glances around and finds Éponine and Bahorel sorting through the takeout boxes, the others clanking around in the kitchen. He can’t quite believe they’re all here when he was fully expecting to sulk around until Combeferre came home. “Thanks. For coming,” he says finally.

Grantaire smiles at him. “You’d do the same for any of us,” he responds. “Go on, pick a movie. Cosette is going to be here in ten minutes and you know she’ll insist on a romantic comedy, so if you want anything other than that, make it quick.”

Courfeyrac picks a movie at random and hands it to Grantaire, who puts it in the DVD player and quickly finds his way through the menus. “Movie is starting, everyone!” he bellows. Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta come piling out of the kitchen carrying plates, cutlery and drinks for everyone, and a minute later they’re all sitting on the couch, the chairs, and cushions on the floor, munching on the food as the opening scene of _Finding Nemo_ starts playing.

Courfeyrac isn’t really sure what to make of the entire situation. He’s overwhelmed with gratitude and he sort of feels like he might cry at some point, but he’s also still pissed off at the entire world. It makes for an odd combination.

The doorbell rings again, and Joly disappears to the hallway, returning a minute or two later with Enjolras and Cosette in tow. Cosette sits down next to Éponine on the floor; Enjolras crams himself into the space between Grantaire and Courfeyrac. Grantaire presses a plate of takeout into his hand and a kiss to his cheek.

Attention to the movie is quickly replaced by chatter that washes through the room. Courfeyrac doesn’t feel like talking yet and divides his attention between Bossuet’s description of his day (only slightly less unlucky than Courfeyrac’s) and Cosette’s story about the first time she watched _Finding Nemo_. From the sound of it, her father cried a lot.

“Are you all right?” Enjolras asks quietly beside him.

“Just a shit day,” Courfeyrac says honestly, though he really is beginning to feel better.

“Well, you know we all love you, right?” Enjolras says, achingly sincere.

That finally brings a real smile to his face. “I know,” he says quietly, leaning into Enjolras a bit more. Enjolras isn’t the most tactile of his friends – it’s really only with Grantaire that he’s cuddly – but he smiles indulgently as Courfeyrac rests his head on Enjolras’ shoulder for a moment.

Feuilly and Marius arrive over the course of the next hour. When _Finding Nemo_ ends, it’s replaced by _Guardians of the Galaxy_. Feuilly has brought cakes from the bakery where she works, and soon they’re all provided with coffee by Éponine and Bahorel.

By the time the second movie ends, Courfeyrac has somehow ended up on the floor with his head in Cosette’s lap. Grantaire is lying against his side, and Joly is drawing patterns onto his hands and forearms as he talks to Bahorel about possible tattoos he thinks Courfeyrac should be getting there. It’s warm, and Enjolras of all people has lit candles all around the room, though he’s made sure they’re all out of reach from Bossuet’s clumsiness and terrible luck.

Courfeyrac still doesn’t feel himself – for one, he’s more quiet than he ever remembers being – but he’s content, and he thinks that’s maybe the most important part. Cosette is running her fingers through his hair, which he’s sure is sticking up in every direction, and the chatter of his friends ebbs and flows around him.

Combeferre finds the whole crowd like that when he comes home from his shift at the hospital. He stops in the doorway, and Courfeyrac twists his neck to look over at him. “Hey, ‘Ferre,” he says over the din, causing the others to turn and look as well.

“There’s a party at my own house and I wasn’t even invited?” Combeferre says, disappearing momentarily and returning with a towel to dry his rain-soaked hair. His eyes drift to the takeout boxes on the coffee table. “And you had the good takeout?” He looks accusingly at Courfeyrac, but the corner of his mouth is quirking up in a smile.

“It wasn’t my idea,” Courfeyrac protests, struggling into a vaguely-upward position.

“Yeah, we totally ambushed him,” Bossuet breaks in. “He had a bad day, so we figured some company might be good.”

Combeferre leans down to press a kiss to Courfeyrac’s lips. Courfeyrac can tell he’s curious about the bad day, but he doesn’t ask. Instead, he sits down next to Enjolras and, upon the requests of Cosette and Grantaire, begins telling them all about his shift. Courfeyrac lets himself drift a little while longer, until one by one their friends start leaving for home. Finally, he’s alone with Combeferre. The plates have already been cleared away by Bahorel and Feuilly before they left, and there’s very little evidence of the impromptu movie night except for the warm feeling in Courfeyrac’s chest.

“Bed?” he suggests to Combeferre, who looks quite dead on his feet.

They’re under the covers not long after, Combeferre with his arms wrapped around Courfeyrac. “Want to tell me about your bad day?” Combeferre asks quietly.

Courfeyrac shrugs, snuggling a little closer. “It wasn’t anything special. Just some rotten luck and a bad mood, that’s all.”

“Are you feeling better now?” Combeferre asks, pressing his face into Courfeyrac’s neck and pressing a gentle kiss to his skin.

“I am,” Courfeyrac says. It’s true: he’s tired and he still feels a little subdued, but he’s warm and comfortable, and he’s gone from feeling unlucky to feeling like he might just be the luckiest person in the world. “Our friends are great. You’re great too,” he adds, brushing his fingers over Combeferre’s arms.

“I know,” Combeferre says, and Courfeyrac can hear the smirk in his voice. “We should get some sleep. I’m sure you’ll have a luckier day tomorrow.”

“I’m sure I will,” Courfeyrac agrees. They fall quiet, and a while later, Courfeyrac can tell from Combeferre’s breathing that he’s fallen asleep.

He thinks back to the moment he missed the bus this morning – the first of the misfortunes of the day. Then he thinks of the dropped coffee, the soaked shoe, the button he’ll have to sew back onto his coat tomorrow. Somehow, lying in bed with the memory of his friends’ love fresh in his mind, it seems totally worth it.  

 

 


End file.
